


talk has no place where honest work is done

by teacupsandsheepskulls



Series: baby we don't talk (about the things you do when you mean to say i love you) [3]
Category: The Fugitive (Movies)
Genre: BAMF Catherine Walsh, Families of Choice, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Not from Walsh though, POV Outsider, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacupsandsheepskulls/pseuds/teacupsandsheepskulls
Summary: Catherine Walsh had a feeling in 1974 that offering Sam Gerard a job was one of the best hiring decisions she had ever made as Deputy Marshal. Eighteen years later, Walsh knows it’s one of the best decisions she ever made with the Marshals Service. This is completely irrelevant to the fact that Sam is one of her most difficult Deputy Marshals, for reasons Walsh is familiar with and for one particular reason that Walsh has guessed but is not her business to know. Until two organized crime detectives decide it is her business to know, and that it’s her business to use it to fire Sam.Or: Marshal Catherine Walsh muses on Sam Gerard, on fairness and petty cruelties, on the many things she has done for Sam over the years, and on one time she gets to show Sam that family has always been a two-way street.A companion piece to “talking is what we do to each other with words (but baby we don’t talk)”
Relationships: Samuel Gerard/John Royce (U.S. Marshals)
Series: baby we don't talk (about the things you do when you mean to say i love you) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1763008
Kudos: 5





	talk has no place where honest work is done

**Author's Note:**

> I considered adding Walsh to “everybody talks”, but Catherine Walsh is the canonical head bitch in charge and she plays second string to no one. Or: a parable on why one should never play poker with Catherine Walsh. 

Catherine Walsh had a feeling, the moment she sat in a balmy, cramped corner in the Marshals Service office in Houston and offered Sam Gerard a job, that hiring him was one of the best decisions she had ever made as Deputy Marshal. It struck her with the force and suddenness of a lightning bolt, though she could not have said what about this kid regarding her with black eyes as cool as a grave should inspire such a thought. The Marshal she poached him from, Martin Hart, a regular Texan good ol’ boy who could be shrewd when he set his mind to it, certainly wouldn’t have agreed, which is probably why he let her poach Sam so easily. That and Sam was a persistent thorn in his side, stubborn as a storm wind with a mind like a steel cage and a set of instincts that most of his colleagues would kill for, paired with a sharp tongue which all of his colleagues tripped into like a bear trap. Sam was a pain in Hart’s ass, for which Hart would have gladly fired him, but Hart could never find a single flaw in his work with which to achieve that aim. 

Had she shared her thought with Hart, he would have told her she was insane, then shipped Sam with her as a parting gift for the asylum. Walsh herself thought it a stroke of temporary imagination, a need to justify her choice beyond the fact of Sam’s performance on a shared case with the Chicago Marshals when anyone in the Houston office would have agreed both that Sam’s work was unimpeachable and that Sam was an unimpeachable bastard. She was not prone to such thoughts, prided herself on her logic and pragmatism. And so she dismissed it out of hand as a random flight of the mind brought on by the suffocating heat and made arrangements for Sam to be brought into the fold in Chicago. 

Eighteen years later, having been Sam’s supervisor as Deputy Marshal and later as Marshal, with Sam in the position she herself once held, Catherine Walsh knows that hiring Sam Gerard is one of the best decisions she ever made in her time with the Marshals Service. 

She also knows that Sam Gerard is going to be the death of her. Assuming that she doesn’t kill him first. 

Walsh guessed, back in 1974, that Sam might be gay. She knew that he was almost married once, several years prior, and while that would hardly make Sam the first gay man to make his cage in the safe sanctuary of wedding vows, it would make him one of the few brave enough not to lock himself into it. It does help explain why Sam never did try to marry again, or even date again (at least, not women, not that Walsh ever heard of it) and it certainly helps explain Sam’s privacy--or rather, how Sam turns his natural personality into a circle of knives to keep others out of his private life, hiding away the parts of him that are quietly kind where no one will ever notice them. 

In anyone else, surrounded by trained investigators, it would have been as good as a death warrant. But Sam isn’t anyone else. Sam is an unimpeachable bastard by nature, and this fact leaves most people who don’t know him perfectly content to agree that Sam is unmarried because no sane woman could put up with him. 

But then, Walsh is a trained investigator, and Walsh does know him, inasmuch as anyone really knows Sam (inasmuch as Sam ever lets anyone know him). Which is to say that sometimes she knows Sam better than he knows himself and sometimes she does not know him at all. 

Walsh did not become one of the few female Deputy Marshals, and later one of the even fewer female Marshals, by being sloppy. She has always been an ambitious woman, and has long known that she would have to be ten times better than anyone in her office (and at least ten steps ahead of anyone else in her office) if she wanted to make it half as far as her male colleagues. And so she brought to the Marshals Service the same vicious eye for detail that made her reputation as a prosecutor. 

Sam is one of the rare men she’s met who’s as smart as she is and uses it. What’s more, he had already been in law enforcement for ten years by the time she met him, so he had at least a ten-year advantage. Walsh is sharp enough not to kid herself. She knows that Sam’s sharp instincts are even sharper when applied to the problem of how other people see him, and knows that the only reason she has even an inkling is because she makes it her business to notice everything well before anyone else knows to look, because she files away every detail in case it should prove relevant later, and the fact that she’s known Sam (skirted Sam’s secrets) for eighteen years. 

She’s seen him, sometimes. Giving passing glances to other men, glances that are sometimes returned and speak subtle volumes if you happen to know how to read them. The way some of his male friends, few though they are and never having any connection to the Marshals Service, linger longer and with more warmth than others, until an unseen wind blows a different direction and they become like any of Sam’s other friends, or more often, they simply leave. She can count those times on both hands, mostly by virtue of knowing Sam for eighteen years with far too many long hours and late nights, which is the only reason she sees enough of them to put the others in context. 

Walsh has guessed, yes, but it’s not her business to know. They are friends, of a kind, but Walsh is Sam’s boss before she’s his friend, because her position cannot afford her the whims of sentimentality. And so Walsh decides early on that it’s none of her business whether Sam sleeps with men any more than it would be her business if he slept with women, so long as it does not give her a reason to question his work or his judgment. 

Sam is often exhausting and innately infuriating. He’s stubborn enough to rarely ever back down from a fight he can win and smart enough never to let it bite him in the ass, at least not with any permanent scarring. Walsh rips him apart as often as she gives her approval, but it’s Sam’s judgment she turns to first when he’s on her team as a deputy and later when he’s one of the higher-ranking members of her office. He’s a damn good Marshal, and his choice in bedfellows has no bearing on that. 

And if he is happy, at least for short stretches, Walsh is hardly one to judge him for it. 

Still, Walsh knows that most people are not as forgiving as she is, or at least, not as willing to turn a blind eye. And while Sam is as painstakingly cautious in his personal affairs as he is in his cases, there are some things he does not see or hear. She knows why he has so very few friends and even fewer _friends_ , deliberately or not. It protects him, having so few people close enough to really know him, but it also leaves Sam always on his own, relying on his own politics and his own sharp ears to defend himself. And some things, while beyond Sam’s powers, are not beyond hers. 

So when Walsh promotes him to Deputy Marshal in her place and compiles teams around him over the years, she takes even more care with choosing his deputies than she would with her other Deputy Marshals, and not just because Sam’s foul weather would cut their national employee roster in half if she didn’t. Sam’s teams are the only ones who spend more time around him than she does, which makes them the only ones with enough context that they might hazard a guess, and that makes them either Sam’s best defense or his biggest threat. Her job is to make sure they fall in the former category. 

Cosmo Renfro she steals for Sam from New Jersey after a lengthy negotiation to burgle Renfro’s employment contract from a local Marshal disinclined to give it up. Renfro is sharp as a tack, but he has enough social graces to counterbalance Sam while being enough of a terror to keep up with him. He situates himself almost immediately as Sam’s right hand, both because he’s just as full of shit as Sam and because, despite being full of shit, he quickly learns to see through Sam, figures out when to stand his ground and when to take a step back lest he lose an eye. 

Biggs and Henry aren’t a matched set--Henry she pulls internally from a different team three years after Renfro and Biggs’ resume appears on her desk eight months later--but they quickly become one. They seem like an odd couple but are quick on their feet, Biggs providing the swiftness and Henry the steadiness. She chose both of them because they have strong enough work ethics to meet Sam’s almost impossible demands and because she knows Biggs is ridiculous enough and Henry has been around the block enough not to be spooked by Sam’s boogeyman office persona. A week after Biggs joins, Walsh is treated to the sight of Biggs, Henry, and Renfro at work, and has a moment to consider whether the building will still be standing by the end of the month. Then Sam appears and snarls, to an eye roll from Henry and a dog howl from Biggs, and Walsh figures there won’t be any buildings left standing in Illinois for fugitives to hide in. That’s perfectly fine with her. 

Sam poaches Poole himself about a year after Biggs, because he does have a sensible bone or three in his body. It helps that Poole herself marched up to Sam in the middle of a fugitive hunt and asked (told) him to do it, because Poole has never in her life met a challenge that frightened her. Sam was a challenge she could relish because he would actually make her a better Marshal for it. Walsh, for her part, is content to sit back and watch with pride while Sam grooms Poole to take over her job someday. 

Newman comes to her on a recommendation from the Detroit office in the early summer of 1992. Walsh is hesitant at first. He’s capable, yes, but also young, and she’s learned from throwing young Marshals at Sam that it will result in either outstanding employees or fireworks resulting in two-week notices and nothing in between. Even in the former case, they tend not to stay with Sam long, figuring out that a) their initial impression of him as an utter bastard was correct and b) the rest of his team is crazy enough to be unbothered by it. It doesn’t help that Newman looks like exactly the kind of fresh young thing Sam would eat for breakfast. Still, Marshal Highsmith insists Newman is talented and surprisingly unflappable, so she takes him at his word and holds her breath. 

Walsh knows Newman will be just fine one night as they come in loud enough to wake the dead after collecting a fugitive. Sam gives Newman shit for his ponytail even though he went out of his way to keep Newman out of trouble on a job that almost went sideways, a sure sign that Sam has adopted him as one of his kids. She knows by the look Newman gives him back, chuckling with a trace of puppy adoration in his hangdog eyes, that Sam has inspired that soul-deep loyalty that all his team share for him despite his exacting standards and natural tendency to be an ass. 

But most importantly, they take care of Sam, which is exactly what Walsh hoped they would do. There are some things his kids cannot protect him from, both by virtue of not always knowing when they might need to protect him and by virtue of not knowing what to protect him from. There are some things she cannot protect him from either (she spends at least half of the eighties distracted by planning how she could shield Sam from the fallout if Sam showed up in her office one day to inform her that he tested positive). But Sam is no longer alone, at work at least, and that’s more than he had before. 

Even so, Walsh worries about Sam. Because as the years go on, Sam does become older and smarter, but as a consequence is even more careful than he was when she stole him from Houston. It partly coincides with the acquisition of his kids, who over the years adopt him into their own families as if he always belonged there, which inherently makes it more difficult to hide his private life. But it also means Sam’s rare stretches of happiness, provided in the spaces no one at work can touch, are increasingly rare. By 1988, Walsh watches Sam leave her office after an impressively ill-tempered back-and-forth to realize that she can’t remember seeing one for at least the last two years. 

There are reasons for it, she knows. The AIDS crisis, for one, which kills almost half of Sam’s friends and leaves more of them scattered and decimated as they suffer the repercussions of becoming unable to hide their illness from the people around them. For another, Sam turns forty-four in 1988, the age at which many of his male friends have long since married and had children, leaving him once more a welcome but distant onlooker. And while Sam’s kids make it abundantly clear they’ve adopted Sam whether Sam likes it or not (he only pretends not to) even that doesn’t fully bring Sam into the fold of something she knows his traditionalist heart wanted even back in Texas in his early twenties--permanency, security, the promise that he could invite someone into his life and have them choose in the eyes of the world to stay there for good. He’s chosen the Marshals Service and his kids to fill that role for him, Walsh knows, but she cannot guess the ache that comes from making that commitment without having any realistic alternative. 

By 1990, to Walsh’s knowledge, Sam has been alone for at least the last four years. And while he has two things he never had when she took him from Houston--his kids and a purpose--the loneliness is taking a toll on him as it never did when he was twenty-nine and hungry to prove himself to her. He still has his good weather, yes, and his work remains beyond reproach. That’s not the problem. 

The problem is that Sam’s bad weather has been getting worse, the storms more brutal, the fronts longer-lasting, the damage more insidious, and nothing--not Walsh, not his job, not even his kids--can break them. And Walsh worries about what Sam’s downpours will flood away, how much of Sam is getting washed away behind the levies, and most of all, whether any of them will know if Sam lets something drift away that he can’t get back. 

Two years later, during one of Sam’s moderate storms, they get a raft of bad press for the ugly recapture of a mid-level gangster and his brother. It’s not entirely Sam’s fault, but it’s not _not_ Sam’s fault either, and it’s that kind of looser-around-the-edges brutal efficiency that worries Walsh when Sam’s dark clouds rumble above them. She lays into him and gives him the unpleasant task of accompanying the prisoners on a plane back to Atlanta where they belong on the threat of a week-long vacation upon return, knowing full well she’ll have to bully him even more to make sure he actually takes it and that taking it won’t help. It’s worse for Sam’s moods to be separated from the Marshals for very long, she knows, but she also needs the time to clean up after him. So she informs him that he’s taking a surprise trip to Atlanta followed by a vacation, hoping at least that Sam in a mood like this is enough to terrorize a plane of prisoners into their best behavior. 

And when Walsh gets a call in the wee hours of the morning that the plane went down in a river in Tennessee, she sprints to the office to rally the troops horrified by what she might find of Sam in the wreckage but not really surprised that anything of the sort should happen to Sam. And while she is relieved to quickly discover that Sam is soaked through and short one of his nine lives, she’s not really surprised that he’s already terrifying the local police. 

It’s Sam Gerard, after all, and Sam Gerard will scare away God on Judgment Day. 

Walsh is surprised, however, to get a phone call from the New York FBI as Sam begins terrorizing the mess into order. Because only Sam could manage to be on a plane with an FBI agent in hiding for the murder of two former colleagues, especially when said plane fell out of the sky thanks to a fight among inmates and said FBI agent was one of the few prisoners to get away from the wreckage. 

Not that surprise has ever stopped her from doing her job, especially with weasels like Special Agent Lamb. 

After a bit of heated back and forth, Lamb faxes her the file on the agent he’ll be escorting to join Sam and his kids in Tennessee, one Special Agent John Royce. Walsh skims his file for two seconds before bullying Lamb into getting Royce on the phone. 

Her first thought, upon seeing his picture, is that he’s exactly the kind of pretty boy Sam will eat alive. Her second thought, upon being on the phone with Royce for all of sixty seconds, is that he’s exactly the kind of pain in the ass Sam will shoot out of spite. Her third thought, upon hearing Lamb’s peevishness when Royce talks right over him to give information Lamb tries to withhold, is that he’s exactly the kind of upstart who would shove his way onto an investigation by making bonfires of his bridges. 

On one hand, Royce’s sheer force of will to get onto the investigation and his willingness to torch his office relationships in the process means he’ll probably be more committed to capturing Mark Sheridan than getting in Sam’s way. And Sam can certainly roast Royce over the bonfires he was nice enough to kindle in order to get the information Lamb clearly doesn’t want to give, a feat that will be easy in Sam’s current mood. On the other hand, Royce’s eagerness to destroy his goodwill in favor of capturing his colleagues’ killer means there’s probably more to the story, and that will make him a liability when they actually find Sheridan, which could be a hazard to Royce’s health in Sam’s current mood. There’s also the vague yet messy possibility that Sam’s foul weather combined with Royce’s reckless politics could result in Royce getting shot on principle. 

But given the choice between Sam and the kid, her money is always on Sam. So Walsh gives her stamp of approval and agrees to let the FBI control the flow of information to Sam and his kids, knowing full well that Royce will probably take care of that problem for her. She ships Sam’s kids to meet him in Tennessee with Renfro under orders to leave at least half of the state standing and Sam largely unbloodied. 

It goes far better than Walsh could have hoped. Sheridan is captured within three days, alive and unharmed but for a bullet hole in his shoulder courtesy of Royce. Better still, there are no bullet holes in any Marshals, FBI agents, or cops. Given that both Sam and Royce were present, it’s astonishingly little collateral damage, and combined with the wave of good press, Walsh lets Sam get away with ignoring her suggested vacation. 

The only thing that pings her radar is Sam. Fugitive hunts normally liven him, and while this one did too, it also altered his tenor. He returns and throws himself into work as he only does when he’s avoiding something, though it’s unclear what that something is. After a month, Walsh chalks it up to Sam trying to avoid his own dark clouds, and while she pointedly bitches at him to sleep in his own damn apartment instead of under his desk like a gremlin, Walsh can’t begrudge him his diligence, even if she knows he’s not getting any sleep under his desk or at home. Still, if staying late when he doesn’t need to keeps Sam out of his own head where he clearly doesn’t want to be, so be it. 

But because it’s Sam, it can’t last. And when it doesn’t last, it’s because Sam and his kids answer a call for a prison bus derailing a train in the dead of night, which should be a straightforward fugitive hunt. Except the FBI is there, and instead of Sam shaving ten years off the end of their lives as usual, Sam lets them take one of the fugitives. And then, because Sam is apparently losing his goddamn mind, he lets the FBI assist, which results in Sam using lethal force after Arthur Collins got the jump on Newman. 

And so Walsh finds herself standing in Sam’s office, realizing that Sam has been even further off balance since Tennessee than she thought and burning both ends to try to outrun it. So when she orders him to take a long weekend and get some rest even as Sam looks like she’s sending him to the electric chair, she can only hope that a weekend of sleep will bring Sam a little closer to his center of gravity while she figures out how to root him there. 

As it turns out, though, she doesn’t need to. Sam returns on Monday refreshed, looking more at ease than he has in two months. And before Walsh has time to be relieved about it, she finds out why. 

Special Agent John Royce, fresh off a transfer to be a pain in her ass instead of Lamb’s and looking entirely too comfortable for his health, because apparently he is both prettier and stupider in person. Which is how, for the first time in six years, Walsh happens to look up long after everyone has gone home to see Sam give the same passing glance to Royce. 

Walsh lets out the longest sigh she’s let out in six years. Then she reaches under her desk for the scotch and pours a large glass. Because while it is reassuring to confirm that Sam has good taste in men (faces, anyway), it’s also disheartening to see that said taste apparently includes a pretty young thing who can’t keep up with him. That or Sam’s been alone so long his standards are slipping, which is an equally disheartening statement about the effects of the last six years on Sam’s sense of self. She takes a long drink and lets it burn down her chest, reassured that at least Royce won’t be with them for very much longer. 

It seems to be an isolated incident. Otherwise, Sam is as he always is, which is to say a complete bastard. Slightly worse, actually, because Royce seems to enjoy egging him on, a habit that persists when Perry realizes Royce survived Sam in one piece and keeps sending him back. What’s bizarre is that Sam lets Royce get away with it. 

It clicks when she sees Sam and Royce one afternoon, sparring with impressive verve while Sam’s kids pretend they’re not listening. Because it’s been six years, which means it took her slightly longer than it should have to figure out that this is Royce’s way of flirting with Sam in plain sight, in full view of the entire office. And Sam, _Sam Gerard_ , is flirting back in plain sight, even though it sounds like he’s contemplating the merits of separating Royce from his jugular. 

And when it clicks, Walsh is struck by the simultaneous urge to shake Sam and slap Royce. 

Because Royce is young enough to be dangerously reckless, supported by the unfounded belief of the young that he’s smart enough to get away with it. And Sam deserves someone smarter than that. 

Worse, _Sam_ should be smarter than th at . Sam _has_ been smarter than that for decades. 

For one, he’s never once chosen men with even vague connections to his job. None of his former partners ever knew his colleagues and his colleagues never knew them. It was a rare occasion that Walsh even knew their faces, never mind their names, and those occasions were mostly by virtue of dumb luck. There was work and there was Sam’s private life and ne’er the twain shall meet. Because if no one ever knew anything, if no one ever even knew to ask, then there was little risk that the thought would ever cross their minds, especially given Sam’s default setting of stone-cold sonofabitch. He didn’t take stupid risks and certainly never let anyone else take stupid risks around him. 

So Walsh can’t figure out what the hell is so special about Royce. 

Royce is whip smart, yes, but he’s also breathtakingly stupid, mostly by virtue of recklessness and arrogance. Worse, Royce doesn’t have Sam’s eye for politics to save him, nor does he have Sam’s shield of seniority, and he definitely doesn’t have Sam’s kids, or even a team, given how much cooler he is with his own team than Sam’s kids. And based on his age, he certainly doesn’t have Sam’s level of experience--in any sense of the word. 

As far as Walsh can see, the only thing special about Royce is his pretty face. All historical data says that a pretty face should not be enough to move Sam. 

And yet. John Royce. 

And as January rolls into February rolls into March, Walsh is increasingly tempted to grab Royce by the collar and drop-kick him back to his own damn office where he belongs. But she can’t tell Perry to stop sending Royce without explaining that the only reason Royce hasn’t been dismembered yet is because Royce is apparently Sam’s type. Worse, there’s no a sign that an unseen wind will blow Royce away. 

So Walsh begins making contingency plans. Sam isn’t stupid, but Royce is, and if something happens to Sam, it will likely be Royce’s fault. And when that day comes, Walsh will close the fortress gates around Sam and leave Royce to fry in the sun without a second thought. Sam is theirs, and they are Sam’s. John Royce is just an interloper with the nerve to put Sam in danger like he has any goddamn right, and Walsh has no qualms about letting him suffer the natural consequences of his callousness. 

_Not callousness_ , Walsh thinks seeing Sam and Royce leave one Friday night, Royce’s face bright even in the face of Sam’s reserve, alight with a different kind of eagerness to stay at Sam’s side than what Walsh sees in Sam’s kids. _Cruelty_. 

Because it is cruel, what Royce is doing to Sam. Convincing Sam that this time will be different, that this time the world will bend in their favor. Walsh has known Sam for eighteen years, has protected Sam for almost two-thirds of Royce’s lifetime, and she has seen over and over again that Royce is wrong. And _they_ , Walsh and Sam’s kids, will be the ones trying to keep Sam from drowning when the false hope Royce gives him is gone and John Royce becomes the current that pulls Sam under. 

And when something changes in March, Walsh watches Sam’s bad weather go blacker than she’s seen in years with the cold, clear horror that the start is worse than she had hoped. Sam lashes out at almost anyone caught in his radius and Royce just keeps shoving the knife in deeper. It reaches the point where Royce doesn’t even need to be there for Sam to be on edge and vicious in his hurting. If this is Sam before Royce is gone, her bones ache to think what will be left of Sam when Royce finally leaves. And as Walsh sits and watches Sam rip apart two budget representatives like he wants to paint the building red, the cold thought drifts through her head that she might just hate Royce for what he’s doing to Sam. 

And she will _annihilate_ him before she gives him a chance to destroy Sam too. 

Walsh knows the moment she gets the call about Judge O’Connor’s death threat that this is going to be ugly, and she knows as soon as she sees Sam’s face that he knows it too. But of course, Sam can’t tell her there’s a problem, and there’s no logical reason for Perry to request someone else when Sam’s team is the best available. Walsh knows it will be ugly, but there’s nothing she can do about it except hope that Sam and Royce are professionals above all else. 

She should have known that the unsubtle fight during the meeting was a bad omen. Even so, when she hears the clusterfuck Saturday spiraled into, she’s so pissed that even Poole ducks and runs. 

And when Sam shows up on Monday, the entire office is hiding and holding their breath, even after Walsh strides into Sam’s office and slams the door behind her. 

“What the _fuck_ , Sam?” she snarls, hearing the entire office flinch and flee for cover. Given Sam’s everything over the last few weeks, all indications say she’s just thrown a lit match at a barrel of dynamite. 

But there is no explosion. Just Sam, staring at her with gaunt eyes that say he hasn’t slept all month, or at least in the last three days. “Things spiraled out of hand,” he says, sounding even more exhausted than he looks. 

“No shit,” Walsh snaps. Sam looks like he has a migraine coming, or maybe just a black cloud worthy of the apocalypse. She lowers her voice an octave, but only one, because she is still angry enough to burn Chicago down. “I send you into shit like this to keep it from spiraling out of hand.” 

“I know,” he says, rubbing his eyes. 

Walsh strides around his desk, reaches into the top drawer and shoves the bottle of ibuprofen at him. “Then explain to me what the fuck happened, because I’m having a hard time understanding.” 

Sam shakes three ibuprofen out and swallows them looking like he’d like to swallow the whole bottle, but instead he tucks it out of his eyeline, which is the only reason Walsh doesn’t snatch it back. Somewhere, under her anger, she knows his bad weather is eating him from the inside out. “The Hilton was a zoo.” 

“I got that far on my own.” 

“We had the judge secured by the bar as planned. A hotel clerk came and told Biggs one of the staff was missing, they were panicking because they thought he was our guy.” 

“How the hell did they know we had a guy?” 

“I’ll be finding that out.” 

“So I’d hope.” 

Sam sighs. “We got the judge secured in the ballroom and then all hell broke loose. Shooter was some kid, got pissed when we got the judge out of sight. Royce, Poole, and I secured him. We cleaned up as best we could without having fresh eyes.” 

“Care to explain why they threw you out until this morning?” His kids gracefully edited the story when they repeated it to her, but she can hear and see the consequences on Sam. 

Sam’s face says he wouldn’t care to at all, and Walsh factually could not care less. “Royce and I had a disagreement in the process of securing the shooter.” 

“Really? Because to hear your kids tell it, your dumb ass stepped in front of an armed gunman without your gun and then Royce stepped in the way.” She leaves out the part where they had to be physically separated, because Sam’s kids didn’t tell her that but she knows that’s the only reason they would have shipped him home until this morning. 

“That about covers it,” Sam murmurs, eyeing the ibuprofen again. 

Walsh takes the ibuprofen and shoves it back in Sam’s desk. “You’re going to have to do about twenty miles better than that, Sam.” 

Sam rests his elbows on his desk and scrubs his hands across his face, a vulnerability as clear as a neon sign saying he hasn’t slept at any point in the last three days. “That’s the best I’ve got, Catherine.” 

“What the fuck is going on with you and Royce?” 

“We’ve been hitting all of each other’s bad nerves.” 

“You’ve been playing piano on each other’s bad nerves.” Sam’s tired exhale is a sure sign that this weekend was worse for Sam than she knows, which is saying something, because the ozone from Sam’s bad weather is all but suffocating. And if she had to bet money, Royce had something to do with it, the fucker. “I don’t know what the problem is, but you need to fix it.” Even though she’s not sure if fixing it entails Sam breaking things off with Royce for good or making up about whatever it is they’re at each other’s throats for. 

“I know.” 

“I mean it, Sam. We’re nowhere near done with this Gambino shit. The last thing any of us need to worry about is you and Royce sharing a sandbox.” 

“Yeah.” 

Walsh takes his phone off the hook and holds it out. “Start dialing.” 

She still backs him on the phone with CPD, because the shitshow with the hotel staff and CPD raring to shoot their shooter, Sam, and Royce isn’t actually Sam’s fault. Besides, John Royce-related idiocy isn’t going to be the reason Walsh turns on Sam. Even if she’d like to strangle him. 

Perry’s team arrives not long after Sam hangs up with CPD. Walsh’s only consolation is that the weekend clearly hit Royce with as much force as it hit Sam, even though it hurts to see Sam waver at the sight of him. Sam Gerard is a force of nature, and he wavers at the sight of no man. 

She nods to the doughnut box. “Those for your kids?” 

“Already distributed to my kids.” Sam is still pretending to get organized at his desk, clearly grateful Walsh gave him a reason to linger. “These are for Perry and his team.” 

It’s as close as Sam Gerard comes to apologizing for unrepentant assholery, and the fact that it’s tangentially related to Royce is as good a sign as any. “Good. Send me Kelly and Rosetti when you’re done with them. And stay on your best behavior.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

He still lingers a moment in his office, taking a breath. _Don’t fuck this up_ , Walsh’s eyes say. Then Sam takes the doughnut box and strides into the meeting. 

Sam is on astonishingly good behavior. For Sam, anyway. Kelly and Rosetti still show up in her office bristling, though they’re not bristling by the time she’s done ripping into them and leaving jagged edges behind. They’re among the few who can actually be held accountable for their contributions last weekend’s steaming heap of shit, and they don’t have enough sense between them to be apologetic. Walsh takes perhaps too much relish in showing them the error of their ways. 

Then again, Kelly and Rosetti aren’t the problem. Not really. The problem is Sam and Royce, and now that they know the shooter wasn’t mob-affiliated, there’s not getting Sam and Royce out of each other’s orbit. They have to get along, or at least agree to tolerate each other, preferably before they kill each other or Sam’s bad weather drowns him. And the wreckage Royce left behind this weekend makes the latter an alarmingly likely possibility. 

So Walsh keeps an eye on Sam all day, relieved that his kids are being more hands-on in doing the same thing. They’ll wall him in if they have to. The bigger question is what they’ll do if they have to. 

Except they don’t have to. Walsh spends Monday making contingency plans only to show up Tuesday morning to find Sam visibly improved. And when Perry and his team show up throughout the week, it’s clear that Sam and Royce fixed whatever they needed to fix. They’re even more on rhythm with each other than they were before, and that’s enough to cement Walsh’s certainty that they’re together now, even though they don’t give any obvious sign that anything is different than it was before. 

If they need an armed gunman every time they need to work out relationship problems, they’re going to give Walsh an aneurysm. 

Sam is happy. Really, honestly _happy_. And Sam being really, honestly happy has been such a rarity in the last eighteen years that it’s practically an act of God. God or John Royce. 

But that’s not the part that astonishes her, as a month wears on and Sam remains in good spirits. What astonishes her is that Sam is hopeful, and she hasn’t seen Sam have hope in years, hadn’t fully realized how much it was draining him until she had evidence in front of her of what Sam is like with hope for his own future. 

“You’ve been happier lately,” Walsh tells him, because Sam hasn’t properly astonished her in a while. 

“It’s early summer. I’ve been getting sun. Big difference,” he growls, and even that can’t hide it. 

She just shakes her head. “I don’t know who it is, Sam,” even though she’s known all along, “but I can only assume you have excellent taste.” Because Sam has a way of proving her wrong, and sometimes she is happy to be proven wrong. 

Still, she can’t help but snort when he calls after her asking why she thinks there’s someone, because Sam is really and truly an idiot. She knows everything that happens in her own office, and Sam’s love affair numbers among the disgustingly precious. 

Of course, Sam also managed to piss off CPD before this whole circus started, and Walsh has known him long enough to spot the subtle signs of Sam Gerard paranoia ten miles off. And when, on one late night, she happens to see a look Sam gives Royce when he thinks no one else is around, a look Walsh has never actually seen on Sam’s face before, she goes home, pours a stiff drink, and starts making contingency plans that include both Sam and Royce. 

The problem is that Royce isn’t one of her people. Kelly and Rosetti aren’t either, but she’s shielded Sam from outside pressures before. The addition of Royce, who is not hers to shield or cow into submission, introduces a wild card that makes it harder to account for surprises. Worse still is the fact that Royce is a reckless moron who has probably already made mistakes Sam was smart enough to avoid. And the nature of the problem means she can only hope Perry is smarter than she thinks he is, because Haslett certainly isn’t and she can’t directly recruit Perry’s help without knowing whether he already knows about Sam and Royce, which is information she can’t confirm without giving up the game and endangering them. She also can’t remove Sam’s team from Kelly and Rosetti’s vicinity when they’ve been involved from the beginning and there’s no good reason to assign a different team other than the certainty that Kelly’s bully hate has turned on Sam and Royce. And because she’s Sam’s boss, she can’t intervene without a clear reason, not unless a complaint is raised. 

So Walsh prepares, quietly collects what she can about John Royce, and settles in to watch and wait, hoping Sam’s kids are taking care of him as well as Royce. 

Collecting information about Royce is a careful art. On paper, Royce’s record is stellar. Deeper digging reveals a slightly more nuanced story. Royce is sharp, yes, and certainly a good agent, but his record is also littered with the signs of a good agent who’s also a pain in the ass, who is still relying on his talent to shield him without the supplement of friends. In an agent without Royce’s sharp tongue, that would be a good approach, but Royce is Royce. 

Royce’s file is both highly informative and not enough. There are no major fuckups on his record that would point to bad judgment, which means his recklessness is likely more personal in nature, which is far more dangerous for Sam. He came to Chicago on a commendation from Lamb, but having heard Lamb on the phone with Royce, Walsh also knows that Royce likely left New York without any bridges standing. He’s never been anywhere but New York and he was only ever on one team in the organized crime division, the same team Mark Sheridan decimated by murdering Daniel Ward and Colleen Romero, which left Royce one of the few remaining members of the original team until he accepted a promotion in Chicago a month after Sheridan was recaptured. If there’s anything to be found that could hurt Sam and Royce, it likely happened in New York. Walsh has now seen Royce in action enough to know that he’s at least smart enough to keep his head down with his bosses, if not smart enough to avoid pissing them off. That would make his behavior with Lamb on the phone an anomaly. While Royce could have left almost any collection of dirty laundry behind for Kelly and Rosetti to sniff out, the truly filthy laundry was likely connected to whatever mess Royce fled in New York, probably connected to Sheridan. 

Walsh has a few guesses. But there’s also no way of knowing how much context Kelly and Rosetti have derived from their phone calls with New York and what guesses could result from it. 

Walsh is half tempted to ask Sam if it would have killed him to pick someone with a goddamn clue. But then again, Sam has always been one of her most challenging deputies. So she watches and listens and plans as the months wear on, grateful at least that Sam and Royce are smart enough to be painstakingly careful and stubbornly professional in the face of every petty obstacle Kelly and Rosetti throw in their way. Or at least, Sam is smart enough, and he’s training Royce to be less of an idiot. 

So when Perry uses Sam as the cavalry to collect Gambino witnesses endangered by Kelly and Rosetti’s pettiness, it’s all Walsh can do not to murder Sam on sight for taking a risk that stupid and then murder Perry for asking him to do it. 

“And so help me God, Sam,” she snaps, “if anything happens to those witnesses, it’ll be your ass in front of the firing squad, not mine.” _Don’t bury yourself in a grave I can’t dig you out of_ , she means, and gets to work. 

But Walsh knows the moment that Kelly, Rosetti, and Captain Roberts interrupt her ripping into Perry that her work all afternoon wasn’t enough. And when she has Perry call Sam and Royce to bring everyone back to the office while she calls Haslett into attendance, she can only pray Royce isn’t as stupid as she thinks he is. 

Sam knows as soon as he lays eyes on her that something is wrong. She tells him to sit, checks the state of her mental troops, and turns to Kelly and Rosetti prepared to go to war. She decided a long time ago she was going to save Sam, and she’ll be damned if she lets these rat fucks ruin the peace Royce has given him. 

At first, it goes well. Sam made a mistake, but Captain Roberts’ signature means the witnesses are now officially Sam’s problem. And since Haslett seems quite inclined to take Perry up on his offer to step up to the guillotine, Walsh isn’t about to stop him. 

Then, suddenly, it starts going south. And when it goes south, Walsh’s worst hypotheses about Royce’s idiocy are proven correct. He did have an affair with Daniel Ward, made clear when he goes white at the mention of Ward’s name. The very same Ward that Mark Sheridan murdered, the same fugitive Mark Sheridan who was responsible for Sam and Royce’s first meeting. 

Walsh keeps interjecting, probing to see what Kelly and Rosetti know while pushing them off course. They don’t stray from their story, but they don’t seem to have more than rumor--she’s seen Royce’s record too, and all indications say that Lamb never knew about Royce and Ward. But Kelly and Rosetti know this is their weakness, because they’ve made sure they don’t need the confirmed truth. When Kelly loops Sam into Royce’s mess, all he needs to turn the Gambino trials into a forest fire is the insinuation that Sam, who has kept himself safe for so long by being alone, spent decades alone because he was a closeted gay man, and isn’t it convenient, that Sam should suddenly be willing to trample on toes that weren’t his to trample, should get along so suspiciously well with John Royce? John Royce who was rumored to be sleeping with his male colleague, the same male colleague who was murdered, resulting in the fugitive hunt where Royce torched every bridge in New York and fled to Chicago, which just so happened to be the home base of the man he met on the hunt for his alleged lover’s killer. And isn’t it convenient that Sam, who has built his reputation on being an utter bastard, who has always been alone, should get along so very suspiciously well with a man fleeing the ashes of an affair with another man? Isn’t it convenient that Sam should demand witnesses that weren’t his to demand, when those witnesses have worked so closely with a man he gets along with so suspiciously well? And wouldn’t it be convenient for the Gambino attorneys to get the trial thrown out on allegations of misconduct, when one could tilt one’s head and think that maybe, just maybe, Sam stepped outside his authority not out of concern for the trial but because his lover asked him to? 

They don’t just want to embarrass Sam and Royce. They want to ruin them. Worse, Walsh can see the hope vanishing from Sam’s face with every successive word, replaced by hollow despair and an awful, yawning blackness wide enough to swallow him whole. 

Walsh decides then and there she’s going to destroy Kelly and Rosetti. First, though, she has to save Sam and Royce. But her office door bursts open before she can, and in flood Sam’s kids with Perry’s team hot on their heels. 

“ _Get out_ ,” she snarls, seeing Sam’s despair deepen the moment his kids appear. 

“No,” Haslett says, “they can stay.” 

And that is cruelty Walsh won’t abide. “Tom.” 

“Catherine.” Haslett, damn him, straightens even under her glare. “We seem to be hearing accusations. I’d like to hear if they’re justified.” 

"There's no reason to turn this into a humiliation." 

"And it won't, if the good detectives’ accusations are indeed baseless." 

_You stupid sonofabitch_. “What about Gerard and Royce’s words?” It’s a last-ditch effort, a prayer that Sam can catch the raft she throws him and paddle himself close enough for her to reel him in without his kids being there to see it. 

“Gerard?” Haslett turns to Sam. _Say something, Sam, please_. But Walsh knows that Sam can’t breathe under all his black clouds, the void left behind in the absence of his hope. 

“Royce?” 

Walsh looks at Royce and finds nothing but terror. All he’s thinking about is saving Sam, but he doesn’t know how. This, Walsh knows, is the moment his childish hope is lost. _I’m sorry Royce_ , she thinks, and steels herself. 

"Well, there you are,” Haslett says. “Since we have yet to hear from Gerard and Royce, I suppose that leaves their teams." 

Walsh stares them dead in the eye and asks them to tell the truth. _Lie for them_ , she tells them. _Save them so that I can stop this_. 

And when Sam’s kids and Perry’s team start talking, Walsh knows she chose the right family to stand by Sam. They tell the truth enough to be genuine but say it in such a way to allow for the right interpretation, to make it seem like they never saw anything without locking them into a lie Walsh can’t back them out of. But it’s Renfro who seals it, shouting in righteous outrage that they would contemplate the thought of ruining two good men’s lives on the basis of malice. 

She shoos them out of her office before they can get carried away, prouder of them than she’s ever been. 

Perry confirms her suspicious that he knows just enough to maintain plausible deniability when takes care of Haslett with a mix of annoyance, pride and quiet fury that Walsh couldn’t have faked better herself. And when Haslett says he would be delighted to learn who spoke so poorly of Agent Royce and have a word with Captain Roberts regarding how Kelly and Rosetti see fit to spend their work hours, Walsh knows Royce is safe. 

That just leaves Sam. And Walsh has many, many years of experience protecting Sam. 

It’s not Kelly or Rosetti that prove to be difficult, but Roberts, who has the audacity to imply that Sam’s kids lied for him while suggesting that the delicacy of the trials should demand a rigorous examination of the matter to avoid later embarrassments. It’s a pleasant reminder that while this farce was Kelly and Rosetti’s idea, Roberts was the one that thought it appropriate to bring this farce to Walsh’s office so that Kelly and Rosetti could attempt to take everything Sam holds dear. Walsh will have to deal with him too when the time comes to rain her wrath on Kelly and Rosetti. She slams the door on Roberts by reminding him that any further consideration of the matter is an internal issue for the Marshals Service, which would be her concern, telling him they’ll have further words about this before diplomatically telling him and his detectives to get the hell out of her building. 

For now, she has to make sure Sam is alright. 

Royce refuses to leave, looking at Walsh over Sam’s head like he fully intends to protect Sam from her. It’s both a heartening sign of his loyalty to Sam and a concerning affirmation of his idiocy that he thinks he stands a fighting chance against her. _You’d better do everything in your power to deserve this man_ , she thinks, _or you’ll find out how wrong you are_. She still makes her voice a margin gentler when she shoos him out to where his own team waits to mob him, reassure him that he’s alright, that he didn’t have to fear from them, that they’re a family too, even if they’re nothing like Sam and his kids. 

When Walsh looks at Sam again, the despair is back. He still thinks he’s in danger, and that she intends to deal with quickly, because Sam has never been in danger from her. 

"I'm sorry to ask this, Sam. But I need to know if what Kelly and Rosetti said is true.” She knew it was true from the start, which isn’t the point. The point is that Sam needs to know that she knows, and he needs to be able to successfully lie about her not knowing until now if it came to that. "About you and Royce being together romantically." 

Sam’s breath catches in his lungs. As much as the hope Royce gave him frightens her, this fear of his own family is worse. 

Walsh prods him gently, and when Sam finally says, "Six months," his voice is small and quiet, the tone she used to have nightmares about hearing in the eighties, a tone she imagined he would use to tell her his death warrant was signed. 

Walsh pushes, because she still needs all the relevant information to protect him and he needs to know that she has it. Apparently, he and Royce did get together sometime after Judge O’Connor, but the knowledge that they’ve been dancing around each other since Collins does surprise her enough that, “Jesus, Sam,” slips out. 

She sees how those two words hit Sam like a blow to the face. "I understand it reflects poorly on my judgment and the Marshals,” he says, and that hits _her_ like a blow to the face. "And I'll take responsibility for it." 

"Stop that,” she snaps, mostly out of anger at Kelly and Rosetti. Sam flinches, and she softens. "How many times have I told you not to bury yourself a grave too deep for me to dig you out of?" 

"Almost weekly." 

She laughs and shakes her head at the familiar argument. "Stop looking like I've killed your cat, Sam,” she says, and proceeds to reassure him that Kelly and Rosetti’s bullshit ends here, at least as far as Sam is concerned. Even so, she knows they got lucky this time. She can protect him now, but that may not always be true, and the thought that she can’t protect him, that this precious thing that makes Sam happy requires her to protect him, angers her down to her toes. 

"I understand,” Sam says, in a tone that says he’s misunderstood her. "I wouldn't ask you to. I don't need anyone's neck on the line to protect me from my mistakes." 

He hasn’t understood her at all. "It was never about need, Sam. We take care of our own. I thought you already knew that." _We’re a family, Sam_ , she doesn’t say, _and we were always going to take care of you_. "Keep your chin up. And don't you dare let them see you down." Because that will be the one day that he truly disappoints her. She releases him so that his own kids can reassure him of the fact better than she ever could, smiling to herself when she sees Sam’s kids unsubtly blocking Sam’s office after Sam pulls Royce in. His kids are taking care of him, and so is Royce. 

Which means it’s time for Walsh to do the same. 

She lets Sam settle with his kids for an hour then orders them all home early, but Sam’s face when he sat in her office still haunts her. Royce is a goddamn idiot, but he’s _Sam’s_ goddamn idiot, and he gave Sam something he hasn’t had in years. Kelly and Rosetti had the nerve to throw it into the light like something disgusting, pulled out all of Sam’s blackest weather, made Sam sit in her office humiliated and terrified, as though he ought to be humiliated for loving Royce and terrified of his own family. And for that alone, Walsh will bury them. 

Then there’s the fact that Kelly and Rosetti had the nerve to think they could manipulate Walsh into firing Sam. Which means it’s high time to remind the masses why one should never, _ever_ attempt to manipulate Catherine Walsh. 

It takes hours, but she has a plan, and when she picks up the phone that morning, it’s with a certain type of collected coolness that only comes when it’s time to set careers on fire. 

“Good morning, Special Agent Perry.” 

To Perry’s credit, he rallies from his surprise quickly. “Marshal Walsh. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Business, I’m afraid,” she replies, letting her chess voice slip through, enough to get Perry to pay attention. 

“I see.” She can already hear the wheels turning in Perry’s head. He’s more aware than he pretends to be, which strengthens her resolve that she was right to call Perry first. “Shall I get Special Agent Haslett on the line?” 

“In a moment,” she replies. “But first I think we ought to chat, supervisor to supervisor.” 

“Regarding?” 

“Special Agent Royce and Deputy Gerard.” 

“I see. You’ll have to forgive me, ma’am, but I’m afraid I’m only aware of the situation on our side.” 

“As am I.” Walsh fixes her gaze at a point on the wall in front of her, settling in for a rousing morning poker match. “From our end, at least, I’ve found no indication that Kelly and Rosetti shared anything more than malicious rumors.” 

“Well, I am glad to hear that, ma’am,” she hears the sound of Perry shuffling, a door closing in the background before he settles back in his chair. “While I can’t speak fully on behalf of Agent Haslett, and would note that Agent Haslett hasn’t had much time yet to examine yesterday’s events, my impression from our side is more or less the same.” 

“I would imagine Agent Haslett is as eager to deal with the matter as I am.” 

“I would imagine he is.” 

“And yourself, Agent Perry?” 

“More so, ma’am. Agent Royce has done excellent work on these cases.” There’s a note of pride in Perry’s voice when he says it. “And I would be sorry to see it impacted by gossip.” 

Walsh hums. “May I ask you an honest question, Agent Perry?” 

“Certainly, ma’am.” 

_You can certainly ask_ , Walsh hears, and her mouth twitches before settling into her courtroom expression, staring at the corner of her office as though looking straight at Perry’s face. “Would you have any reason to believe the detectives shared those rumors for reasons beyond professional concern?” 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, ma’am.” 

He’s understood perfectly, Walsh knows, and he’s casting a line to hide it. “Have you or your team had any problems with the detectives in the past, prior to their concerns being raised yesterday?” 

The line falls silent enough for Walsh to hear Perry contemplating how honest to be with her. “My team may have experienced some professional differences with Detectives Kelly and Rosetti in the past, yes.” 

“May I ask what those differences were regarding?” 

“These were minor differences, you understand.” 

“I understand.” 

“Nothing which ultimately impacted how our work proceeded in the long-term.” 

“Of course.” 

Perry clicks his tongue once, as if snapping his words into order. “Detectives Kelly and Rosetti had a few different ideas of how best to proceed with some details of the case, which they did express from time to time.” 

“To Special Agent Royce?” 

“To all of us, yes ma’am.” 

“May I ask what those details were?” 

Perry is silent for a moment. Walsh checks the positions of her pawns and waits. “They had some differences of opinion from time to time regarding how best to handle witnesses and evidence in connection to the Gambino cases.” 

“Multiple differences of opinion?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“And did they ever act on those differences?” 

“From time to time. But as I said, nothing which ultimately impacted our work in the long-term.” 

“Of course. But they did create roadblocks in the case as a result of those differences of opinion, regarding how to appropriately handle witnesses and evidence?” 

“Roadblocks did occasionally arise due to those differences of opinion and the appropriate handling of witnesses and evidence. But as I said, we did our best to mitigate any long-term influence on our work.” 

Walsh notes the change in Perry’s phrasing. He’s smart enough to start playing the game with her. That, she can work with. “On more than one occasion?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Roadblocks in connection to Special Agent Royce?” 

“Roadblocks for all of us, including your team. But I did notice that they seemed to have more differences of opinion with Special Agent Royce. And as I said yesterday,” Perry’s voice takes a razor’s edge, “I have never had cause to question Special Agent Royce’s judgment or his performance, regardless of any occasional differences of opinion.” 

Walsh nods to herself, setting her hook. “If you were to give an opinion now, Agent Perry, do you believe those professional differences may have influenced the detectives’ decision to share their concerns yesterday?” 

“I’m afraid I can’t speak for Detectives Kelly and Rosetti, ma’am.” 

“What about speaking for Special Agent Royce?” 

“Speaking for Special Agent Royce, it’s my _opinion_ ,” Perry says carefully, as if Walsh might miss the word, “that yesterday was a culmination of those differences.” 

Which was all Walsh needed him to say. “To be perfectly frank, Agent Perry,” even though they both know they haven’t been perfectly frank at any point in the last ten minutes, “I worry that Detective Kelly and Rosetti may not have brought such rumors to our attention out of professional concern.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Yes.” 

“And why might they have informed us of such rumors, if not out of professional concern?” 

And now to see how well Perry dances. “In light of what you just told me, Agent Perry, it seems to me that yesterday was the part of a larger pattern of behavior.” 

“I see. And what behavior would that be?” 

“You mentioned that Detectives Kelly and Rosetti had multiple differences of opinion regarding the appropriate handling of witnesses and evidence?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Differences which occurred several times over the course of the last several months?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Differences which your team and Deputy Gerard’s team had to mitigate to avoid any long-term impact on the Gambino trials?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Differences similar to the situation yesterday with the press conference and the witnesses Deputy Gerard remanded for their safety?” 

There’s a pause, then, “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Did the detectives take comparable measures to integrate your methods into their work?” 

There’s a longer pause. “…not that I’m aware of, ma’am.” 

“Then the damage control was solely on your side?” 

“And Deputy Gerard’s, to the best of my knowledge, ma’am.” 

“So, what you’re telling me, Agent Perry, is that your team and Deputy Gerard were frequently forced to mitigate the consequences of the detectives’ actions in connection to Gambino witnesses and evidence, for fear that it could influence the outcome of the trials?” 

“Correct, ma’am.” 

“As part of a consistent pattern of conduct?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“During which time the detectives were also in touch with Special Agent Royce’s former colleagues in New York for the exclusive purpose of communicating about the Gambino trials?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“And so yesterday, when the detectives’ differences of opinion and methods endangered the lives of key witnesses, they may have been concerned that it would reflect poorly on an overall pattern of conduct.” 

There’s an even longer pause, and when Perry speaks again, it’s with care, as if picking his way through a path he can’t quite see. “I can’t speak for the detectives, ma’am, but I would imagine so.” 

“And when it became clear that the situation would be taken out of their hands and could reveal a pattern of poor conduct that could have potentially resulted in a mistrial, the detectives shared a few rather malicious rumors about Special Agent Royce and Deputy Gerard, gathered from conversations with Special Agent Royce’s former colleagues.” 

“In an effort to distract from their own misconduct,” Perry says slowly. He’s catching on, it seems. Finally. 

“And it would be simply dreadful if such malicious rumors were the reason why a potentially larger problem were to be overlooked.” 

“Indeed it would.” 

“Of course, given the nature of the rumors, as they happen to coincide with the untimely passing of Special Agent Royce’s former colleagues, I am concerned they may overshadow the truth of the matter, if one were to examine the matter with an eye toward sensationalism.” 

“As would be likely,” Perry continues, “given the sensationalist nature of the mob trials, and the media attention they’ve already received.” 

“And I am concerned, given the sensationalist nature of such rumors, that they may cast a negative light on Special Agent Royce and Deputy Gerard if they were to be widely circulated, regardless of their validity.” 

“As am I, ma’am.” 

“As would the rumor that such a rumor were quelled, if it were to be widely circulated.” 

“Indeed.” 

“And it would be a genuine tragedy, in my eyes, if a career as bright as Special Agent Royce’s were to be curtailed because of it.” 

“And an equal tragedy if a career as exemplary as Deputy Gerard’s were to be tarnished by malice.” Some of Walsh’s bemusement must echo through the line, because Perry adds, “Deputy Gerard is an outstanding lawman, regardless of our personal differences. I, for one, would be ashamed of the justice system to see bad lawmen make a mockery of good ones.” 

Perry is a bigger man than Walsh gave him credit for, and sometimes, she is truly delighted to be proven wrong. “We are in agreement then, Agent Perry?” 

“I believe we are, Marshal Walsh.” 

“Excellent. Would Special Agent Haslett happen to be in his office?” 

“I believe he just stepped in, yes.” 

“Wonderful.” 

“If you would, ma’am, let me talk to Agent Haslett first,” Perry says. “I’ll bring you back into the loop from there.” 

All the better to handle Haslett cleanly. “In that case, I believe I’ll speak with you shortly.” 

“I believe you will, ma’am.” 

Walsh hangs up, and when the phone rings again about thirty minutes later, she holds the phone to her ear with a hunting smile and a subdued voice. “Good morning, Agent Haslett, how are you today?” 

Haslett doesn’t need much convincing to let Perry take the lead and handle it internally, so long as Haslett is kept in the loop. It takes all morning to plan, a lot of people coming on and off the phone, and a creative rearrangement of meetings, but when Captain Roberts returns from lunch that day, Walsh is waiting in his office with her mental chessboard set and Perry flanking her. 

“Marshal Walsh.” Captain Roberts is too surprised to greet her before he closes the door, but he is smart enough to close the door after him. And then the blinds, because his precinct is staring into his office with the kind of unabashed curiosity Walsh would never abide in her own deputies. 

“Captain,” she replies. 

“When you said you would be in touch, I admit I didn’t expect you to be in touch quite so soon,” Captain Roberts says, settling into his chair behind his desk. 

“Your detectives raised serious concerns, Captain,” she replies. “Given the delicacy of the trials, we are all eager to address them as soon as possible.” 

“In that case, shall I call the detectives in?” 

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary quite yet.” It will be tidier for her if Kelly and Rosetti aren’t present and squirming while she torches them. 

“As you like.” Roberts inspects her, as though he stands a chance of seeing anything more than she wants him to. “I would be happy to put you in touch with them, as we are just as eager to address this issue swiftly.” 

“That won’t be necessary, Captain, thank you.” 

“No?” 

“Marshal Walsh and I have already spoken with our respective teams this morning,” Perry says from his perch near the filing cabinet. It’s the only reason it took them until lunch to get this far, but the kids’ admirable performances were worth the delay. 

“I see,” Captain Roberts says, his surprise visible in his rising eyebrows. “And may I ask what you found?” 

“As with yesterday, we found no reason to believe the allegations had any weight. My team seemed frankly astonished at the suggestion.” 

“As did Deputy Gerard’s team,” Walsh adds. Sam’s reputation has a way of making such reactions convincing. 

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Roberts says, and here comes the protest Walsh expected, “as I noted yesterday, Agent Royce and Deputy Gerard’s teams are not unbiased.” 

“It’s on our heads just as much as yours if the trials fall apart,” Perry replies in a clipped tone. “And while they are not unbiased, as you note, the amount of time they have worked together over the past several months means that no one else in our offices would be better equipped to speak to such accusations.” 

“And Agent Royce’s team in New York?” 

Foolish man. Walsh already thought of that too. “Half of Agent Royce’s former team was killed in a tragedy, Captain Roberts,” Walsh says coolly. “And those who remain in New York have no bearing on Deputy Gerard.” 

“In any case,” Perry cuts in, “Agent Haslett and I agree, and I’m sure you will too, sir, that there’s no reason to subject Agent Ward’s family to further pain, nor any reason to tar Agent Ward’s memory with malicious gossip when we have no reason to suspect there is any truth in it.” 

That, at least, sets Roberts on his heels. “Yes, of course. None of us want to cause further anguish.” 

Roberts does seem to mean it, but Walsh doesn’t need to be in Perry’s head to know what he’s thinking—Roberts didn’t have much trouble with the idea of tarring Ward’s memory until it was reframed that way. “Though we are eager to collect the names of those who the detectives claim shared such rumors, once we’re done here.” 

“I would be happy to get those names for you,” Roberts says, though the look in his eye says he can already smell the stink Kelly and Rosetti will raise when he does. “Did you run into any other problems, talking to the teams?” 

Walsh and Perry exchange a look, long enough to make sure Roberts sees, to make it seem like Walsh is saying _spit it out_ when she’s actually saying _make it convincing_. 

Walsh doesn’t need to be looking at Roberts to know that he’s steeling himself for another tiring mess. “There were problems, weren’t there?” 

“It’s not—” Perry starts. 

“Yes, it is,” Walsh cuts in. 

“What is it?” Roberts sighs, in a tone that says he needs more coffee to deal with this. 

Perry shifts his jaw, then turns to the captain. “Look, Captain, I’m not eager to make a fuss.” 

That makes the captain looks like he needs a pot of coffee. “If you don’t, the Gambino attorneys will. Personally, I’d rather send them to prison where they belong.” 

“That makes two of us,” Perry replies, then straightens in his chair. “My team has had some…concerns, working with the detectives over the last few months.” 

“What kind of concerns?” 

“Not _concerns_ ,” Perry catches himself, “differences of opinion.” 

The captain’s face says Kelly and Rosetti don’t have differences of opinion. “What kind of differences of opinion?” 

“Related to witnesses and evidence.” 

“Such as?” 

“Delayed evidence. Postponed transfers. Paperwork coming to us that needed fixing. Misplaced odds and ends. That sort of thing.” 

Walsh can see the moment things start clicking in Roberts’ head, and when they do, Roberts looks properly pissed. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” 

“We had a job to do,” Perry replies, somehow both soothing and slightly peeved at the question. “At the time, we were more concerned with keeping the cases on schedule and keeping the peace. We tidied up and passed them off as annoyances.” 

“We don’t have time for annoyances with the Gambino family,” Roberts snaps. “Bastards are like water. If there’s a way to slip out, they’ll find it.” He turns to Walsh. “What did Gerard’s team say about this?” 

“I wish I could say it wasn’t more of the same, but,” Walsh spreads her hands, lets them go. 

“Jesus Christ,” Roberts mutters. Then he pauses, blinks, and looks between Perry and Walsh. “What about the press conference?” 

“As I said before, Captain, I discouraged the detectives from the press conference and asked Deputy Gerard to intervene to protect the witnesses,” Perry says. 

“Do you think it was more of this, these,” Roberts waves his hand like he’s already fed up with what he’s gesturing to, “inconveniences?” 

Perry’s face is both grim and uncomfortable. “I don’t want to presume without knowing, Captain, but it would be concerning if it was.” 

“You’re telling me.” 

“If the press conference was a continuation,” both their heads turn to Walsh, “then we’ve got a bigger problem on our hands.” 

“Other than talking to the press about Gambino…” Roberts cuts himself off mid-sentence, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “The press.” 

“The press,” Walsh replies grimly. 

“You don’t think…” Walsh turns to Perry with a disbelieving look, leading him through his backpedal. “I mean, I don’t think it would happen. Would it?” 

“What?” Walsh glances between Perry and Roberts and waits, because the key to making a horse drink water is letting the horse think drinking was his own idea. “A leak?” 

Perfect. “We have all kept a tight rein on all our dealings with the press,” she says, cleanly skating around mentioning yesterday’s press conference. As if she would be caught dead being that sloppy. “But if the case were to be thrown out, the Gambino attorneys would ensure that the press knows why, and that would be a tremendous embarrassment to the Chicago police.” 

“Indeed it would,” Roberts sighs. 

Walsh crosses her ankles, lets herself look pained at the prospect of what she’s about to say, enough that Roberts looks wary. “I don’t mean to press, Captain,” she says slowly, even though she absolutely means to press, “but if that were to happen, well. You understand the difficult situation that would put me in.” 

“It would put all of us in a difficult situation,” Roberts says, wary enough to hold out an olive branch. 

“With Deputy Gerard in particular.” Walsh lets out a put-upon sigh through her nose. “I won’t pretend he’s not difficult, but he is one of my finest deputies, and he is highly dedicated to his work.” 

“That he is.” It’s unclear which part Roberts is agreeing with. Any part would be fair. 

“That’s my point, Captain. If the cases were to be thrown out, and a rumor like the one the detectives raised was somehow connected to it,” she pauses, soldiers on, “you understand how Deputy Gerard’s dedication could be misconstrued.” Roberts looks grim at the prospect of where this is going, but nods once, and Walsh knows she has him. “It would make a royal mess of it, but at that point it would be an affront to his decades with the Marshals Service if I didn’t file a harassment complaint on his behalf.” 

“There won’t be any need for that,” Roberts says firmly. “Detectives Kelly and Rosetti will no longer be involved in the Gambino cases from today forward, and there will be an investigation into their potential misconduct in connection to those trials. It seems only appropriate.” 

“I agree,” Walsh says, for all the world as if it wasn’t her idea. “My office will be more than happy to offer the assistance of Deputy Gerard’s team to ensure the investigation is handled with due speed.” 

“As the FBI is prepared to offer my team,” Perry adds. 

“I appreciate that,” Roberts says. “We’ll deal with this immediately, since the trials remain ongoing. We can’t afford to risk tarnishing anything they may have been involved with.” 

Walsh nods and lets her shoulders relax as if relieved. “In that case, I see no reason why the Marshals Service should need to file a complaint.” 

“Again, I appreciate that,” Roberts says, though Walsh can already tell he’s thinking of how much Kelly and Rosetti will not appreciate that. 

“Nor will the Chicago FBI office, given that such harassment is an embarrassment to us all,” Perry says, even though Walsh has spent enough time with him this morning to know he’d very much like to do more than file a complaint on Royce’s behalf. “Nor will the FBI have reason to investigate the detectives in connection to this matter, if the investigation were handled internally.” 

“Investigate?” Roberts looks incredulous. And this is the part that must be sold carefully, because they don’t actually want the public spectacle attached to the FBI investigating Kelly and Rosetti. Which means they need the captain to think sidestepping a nonexistent threat was his own idea. And that part hinges on Perry. 

“Please, Captain,” Perry cuts himself off with an uncomfortable noise, shifting in his seat to wave his hands in front of him in a white flag gesture. “Based on our conversations this morning, Agent Haslett’s view is that it’s very much the FBI’s business if we have reason to believe the detectives knowingly interfered with an ongoing federal trial.” 

“And if the Gambino attorneys cottoned onto the FBI investigating misconduct connected to the trials, they’d turn it into a circus,” Roberts snaps. “We’re taking far less of a risk if CPD deals with this internally.” 

“I completely agree, sir.” Perry speaks quickly, face is both apologetic and placating. “And Agent Haslett was convinced of the same, provided that the investigation is dealt with quickly and quietly.” 

Roberts’ relief is tangible. “I’m glad for that,” Roberts sighs, rubbing one hand against his neck. “These trials are enough of a damn mess as it is.” 

“That they are, Captain,” Perry replies, with an equally tired sigh. 

Roberts looks suddenly uneasy, as though he just smelled something foul on the wind. “What about the contents of the detectives’ allegations?” 

“I’m sorry?” Walsh’s tone lets Roberts know the exact thinness of the ice he’s stepping on. 

“Given the…nature of the detectives’ allegations,” Roberts says, pressing his lips together as if he can’t quite figure out how to mention the nature of the allegations politely and it’s leaving a sour taste in his mouth, “I think you’ll agree it’s also a delicate matter.” 

Walsh lets out a snort of disbelief as though it escaped by accident, as though the captain surprised her with an unpleasant subject. “More than delicate. It could ruin their reputations, regardless of whether or not it’s true.” 

“That’s my worry, ma’am,” Roberts nods, continuing his point. “How might they factor into the investigation and the record? They were the reason we’re having this conversation, after all. But having something like that on the record…well.” As if Walsh hasn’t already thought of that. 

Perry speaks for her. “I see no reason why they ought to factor into the investigation at all. The nature of the allegations,” he breaks off, looking uncomfortable with the suggestion of it. An impressive performance, all told. “It would be cruel to humiliate two good men with something like that in an investigation when we have no reason to believe the accusations are true.” 

“Yes, it would,” Roberts finishes, shaking his head. “I have bigger concerns here, in any case.” 

Walsh does so love it when her puppets dance the way they’re supposed to. 

“Of course,” Walsh says, a scalpel’s edge in her voice, “should such harassment occur a second time, I’m afraid I cannot offer the same arrangement. Given the seriousness and cruelty of the false allegations against Deputy Gerard.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to,” Roberts says, with weary and irritated eye cast toward the blinds like he can already feel the headache that’s waiting for him when Kelly and Rosetti find out the bargain he struck. “And I can assure you, ma’am, it won’t happen again.” 

Walsh knows it won’t, not by the time she’s finished with Kelly and Rosetti. “Excellent.” 

“Either way,” the captain straightens in his chair, “the investigation stays between us and we handle this quickly and quietly.” 

“Agreed,” Perry says. 

“Agreed.” As though Walsh didn’t craft the terms of the agreement from the first letter. 

“Good.” Roberts nods to his phone. “Shall I call the detectives in?” 

“I believe it’s time they joined us, yes,” Walsh says, leaning back into her chair to watch Roberts dial for Kelly and Rosetti. She’s already looked into Kelly and Rosetti’s records, knows exactly the portrait that Roberts will find, especially once he’s helped along with a few strategically placed truths from Sam’s kids and Perry’s team. And she also knows exactly what Roberts will be forced to do about it, under pressure from the Marshals Service and the FBI to clean up his mess before the Gambino attorneys catch wind of it. 

_You should have stayed on your own playground, boys_ , she thinks, watching Kelly and Rosetti enter. 

Because somewhere, in her heart of hearts? Walsh is going to enjoy this. 


End file.
